


Sunshine

by thewakeless



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Australia, Blow Job, Established Relationship, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Summer, beach, hamocks, interactive introvert era, lazy lizard mood, sun burn, tw: sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25072054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewakeless/pseuds/thewakeless
Summary: Summer sex (with consequences)
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> thank you @lovestillaround for betaing and fixing all my insane comma usage

The sunshine tastes of honey, and he grows lazy under its influence, hardly rising from the terrace, letting Phil come to him. The house they have rented is perfect (private). The beach outside–glorious and serene and empty of faces. The weather–so fine, and the sky–so blue, it feels as if this cannot possibly be real life. He lays on a hammock in the terrace under the sun, intermediately sleeping, his mind a low calm buzz. 

He hears noises from the house. Phil listening to music. Making coffee. Video calling one of their friends. But he stays just where he is soaking up the sun. He could not remember the last time he felt so at peace, every old worry fallen out of his head, left behind in an airplane or an auditorium somewhere. He’s happy to be rid of them, happy to bask in the sunshine and the blue sky and that beautiful god-sent breeze that runs through his body and whisks at his hair. 

With his eyes closed and Phil quiet inside the house, he can hear the waves swishing rhythmically against the sand and the palm trees rattling with the wind. He can smell the clear clean sea air. The freshly mowed lawn in front of the house. And there is a faint hint of citrus in the air. He breathes it in with pleasure, wondering if there’s a lemon tree growing somewhere close, its roots buried in the cool dirt. He turns his head slightly as he hears footsteps and opens his eyes to catch Phil shirtless walking towards him. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says, and Dan is grateful that his voice is low, as if he doesn’t want to wake him from his dreaming. 

Dan smiles at him. Phil kneels next to his hammock, leaving them at eye level. “Wanna go to the water?” he suggests, and his fingers run through Dan’s hair, carefully arranging his curls, softly caressing the top of his head. 

He shakes his head. He does not want to move. He wants to be a lizard on a warm rock for a little longer. 

“I’m going to take a little walk, okay?” says Phil, leaning forward and pecking his lips. 

“You do that,” says Dan, closing his eyes again. 

He feels him go off and imagines him by the water, all that white skin and warm sand. He imagines him leaning down, fingers touching the waves, letting the water splash further up his calf. The image is enough to make him wish (partially) that he was with him. That he could see the water reflected in his eyes and the sunshine in his hair. But no, right now he needs to be a lizard; he can be a good boyfriend another day. 

A big breeze comes through and pulls all his curls out of place. He smiles a little and moves the hammock so that it rocks from side to side. This time yesterday they were at an airport. They have been busy for months now, sleepless for months, and this is just what he needs (what they both do). He enjoys the movement of the hammock, the comfort it brings; he thinks of babies and rocking chairs and his grandmother and that sweet flowery perfume she always wears. 

He is not aware of falling asleep. He does so easily, slowly, floating into it, his body relaxed under the sun. 

He wakes up in the slow awareness that he needs water. He yawns and stretches his arms. He does not want to get up, but his throat is dry, and it is probably time to coat himself in sunblock again. He gets up onto the cool tiles of the house and goes through the expansive living room to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

His sense of time is off entirely, and he’s not sure if Phil is back yet. “Phil,” he calls, but it isn’t loud enough to go through the whole house. He doesn’t really want to be loud right now, he wants to go back out into the sunshine. He drinks his water and then grabs one of the many bottles of sunblock Phil has left lying around. He splatters a generous amount onto his hands and then rubs it over his body. When he finishes, he fills the glass of water again and walks back out to the hammock. 

From the terrace you can see the cool blue water, the stretch of sand in front of it. He squints into the sun, trying to make out if he can see Phil. The beach looks empty. He is almost tempted to run over there, stick his feet in the water, but the hammock is far too comfortable. He puts the water glass down on a little table, and then stretches out again, closing his eyes. 

There will be time this week to swim and be on the beach and hang out with Phil. Right now, this silence is sacred to him. And this heat is sacred to him. He opens his eyes, watching the water and the shade of the palm trees dance on the sand. After a while, he catches a glance at Phil who is making his way back towards the house, his white skin a sharp contrast to everything else. 

He can’t help but smile as he sees him, with his terrible posture and his beautiful face. It doesn’t matter how long they have been together (how long they have had each other); there is still a deep pride in him that out of all the people in the world Phil wants to spend his life with him.

“Hey,” he calls as he sees him staring. He does a cute little run at him, and Dan braces himself for contact, but he doesn’t jump on him. 

“Did you nap?”

“I did.” He stares contentedly at him. “How was your walk?”

“So nice, the water is perfect, I took so many terrible pictures.”

Dan laughs and stretches out his hand grabbing Phil’s, his fingers cool and wet from the water, sand between his fingernails. 

“Happy alone? Or do you wanna do something?”

“Mmhm…” He doesn’t know. He wants to be a lizard, but maybe it would be nice if Phil was a lizard with him. Without answering, he pulls him in. The hammock is certainly not big enough to fit two giant men, but somehow (when confronted with all tiny spaces) they manage to cram themselves in. Dan ends up with one of Phil’s arms as a pillow, lying on his side, his leg possessively around his boyfriend. 

Phil kisses the top of his head. “This is nice, I’m sorry if I’m all wet.”

He is a little, but it makes for a good contrast to the sun. Dan presses himself against him and closes his eyes. Somehow (and Dan is not sure how), being in a crammed hammock with someone who’s wet and sandy is better than being in a hammock alone. He loves the smell of his hair and the feel of Phil’s fingers as they run across the sun kissed skin of his shoulder.

They stay still together, not talking for a while, until Dan wonders if they are really two lizards or just one lizard with many limbs. He pulls his arms across Phil’s chest, absentmindedly stroking his chest hair, hearing the comforting sounds of him breathing, closer and dearer than the ocean. “This is all I want,” he tells him. “Let’s never leave.”

Phil laughs. “Okay. Just us?”

“Yeah,” he opens his eyes and gets blinded by the sun. It’s still early in the day, and he is grateful for that, so grateful; there are still so many things they can do. (If they decide being a lizard is not enough). “Phil?”

“Yeah?” He can tell by his voice that he is almost drifting away. 

Dan kisses his cheek. “Love ya.”

“You get so sappy on vacation,” he complains, but he squeezes his arm. 

Dan watches him as he drifts off. Watches the breeze run through his hair. He looks so relaxed at this moment, after so long of running around. Really, Dan should let him sleep. Phil needs the rest at least as much as he does. But… with him so close… Dan doesn’t just want to be a lizard anymore. Before Phil came, he had felt like he almost didn’t have a body; all he wanted to do was sleep and soak up the sun, but now suddenly he is very aware that he has a body and that Phil has one too (a very nice one).

He tries to distract himself with the sound of the ocean, but then Phil shifts a little closer to him, and Dan’s eyes go straight to his crotch. Sleeping or not, it is very clear that his boyfriend has a boner. Dan nuzzles in the crook between Phil’s head and his shoulder. He kisses at his neck, his hand caressing down his torso and then back again. Phil shifts pleasantly, and Dan feels the force of his beautiful eyes staring him up. 

“Thirsty?” says Phil.

“How ever did you guess?”

“I know you,” he says, and Dan must kiss those words away. 

The hammock is a terrible place to have sex. Neither of them can really move, but they lie there kissing all the same, Dan fully on top of him, Phil’s hand gripping at his ass. He can feel the sun on his back, on his hair; the warmth of it makes him wish he was naked in the light. 

Clumsily, he climbs out of the hammock and strips off his shorts, kicking them into the house. Phil stares at him as if he’s crazy, his eyes moving to the deserted beach. For a moment Dan thinks he is going to make the (terrible) suggestion that they go up to the bedroom, but luckily his boyfriend is not that kind of man. He stands up and takes off his own shorts, staring at him as he does so, and Dan loves that look in his eyes, that look of ‘I have to have you’.

He leads him by the hand into the sunniest bit of the terrace. He pulls a couple of cushions off a bench and throws them on the ground. He lowers himself on his knees in front of Phil, using one of the cushions, his mouth opened, his eyes staring up at him underneath thick lashes. Phil caresses his jaw with a white knuckle and then pushes his cock into his open mouth. 

They haven’t actually done this in a while. They have been too busy (too tired). Sexlessness has fallen on them, quietly, romantically. They end their nights with pecks and whispers and hands pressed together between bunk beds. But, oh god, this feeling. Dan closes his eyes. He can hear the ocean and Phil whispering something, so softly, so softly. His mouth moves automatically, his tongue swirling around him, pulling him in and out. And now he thinks that this is the only thing he wants to do with his life. Forget sunshine, forget water and blue skies. This is it. This is his forever.

And he knows that it’s a silly thought. Fueled by hormones, by abstinence, (by love). But at that moment it feels so real, so powerful. His fingers dig into Phil’s hips, and Phil pulls at his hair (just right). And he loves it. Loves the messy way the precum mixes with his spit. Loves the filthy image of the liquid dripping from his mouth (down his chin). And more than anything loves the idea that he is bringing his favorite person such pleasure. 

It doesn’t take long. Dan can feel the urgency in him, in the tightness of his body. Phil takes control. And Dan is okay with that; he knows him (trusts him). He lets his jaw go limp; he rests still on his knees, letting Phil fuck into him at his own pace, pushing deeper and deeper but never too much, never too fast. He cums into his mouth and Dan gags, causing it to coat his lips, dribble down his chin. He blinks up at him slowly (the sun in his eyes) and licks his lips. Phil looks dazed and pretty, and Dan wants him, wants him more and wants him always. He presses his face back against his softening dick, closing his eyes, breathing him in.

Soft fingers go through his hair, massaging his scalp, moving down to his neck. Phil slides his fingers along his shoulder, and Dan wonders if he can feel all his tension. “You have new freckles,” he says, making little lines between them. 

Dan does not answer. He never wants to speak again. He moves back and looks up at him. He looks so tall with the sun behind him. A tall white giant, beautiful and naked and perfect, everything Dan could have ever wished for. He leans forward and kisses the tip of his cock appreciatively. Phil laughs as he drops to his knees. He pulls Dan into a kiss. Dan relishes in the knowledge that Phil can taste cum on his lips. Memories of Phil licking it from his hand come back to him, making him smile; they have had so many good days; they have been so lucky. 

He lays down on the floor. The tile is cool to the touch, and Phil is warm above him. The sunlight blinds and dizzies him; he feels a little drunk. He wonders suddenly what would happen if someone saw them. Two men making love in the sun. Dan moans indecently, his legs spread, as Phil teases him, his hands caressing around his cock (never quite touching it). What would they think of him, these invisible others? Would they think that he is beautiful? That he is shameless? That he is depraved?

The word makes him shutter, and Phil stops kissing. “You okay, babe?” he says.

Dan nods, but involuntarily he looks behind him at the empty beach. “There’s no one here, right?” He needs reassurance; his hand grips at Phil’s arm. Fear has crept in from somewhere. Paranoia. Old doubts. And things he has held back (continues to hold back). 

“There’s no one here, Dan,” he says softly, kissing each of his dimples. “We can go in though, if you want.”

He shakes his head. He’s being stupid of course, this is perfect. His hands reach out and cup Phil’s face. He wishes at that moment that he knew everything he was thinking. That he could transfer his thoughts into his mind. That they were (really) one person.

“It’s okay,” Phil mutters. “I have you. There’s no one else here.”

Dan strokes his cheeks and smiles (a little sadly). Why does the fear always come in?

“You’re safe,” says Phil. He can’t read his mind, but, god, does he know him. Dan smiles (a little less sadly), and Phil leans forward to kiss him again. 

And here is his anchor. His home. His person. Flesh and bone and beautiful. And Dan can trust him, trust him as he has never (and maybe could never) trust anyone else. He feels himself let go slowly. Under the blinding sun, kisses on his neck and shoulders, hands sliding down his thighs. He wraps himself up in the safety of this person (whom he adores) and in that manages to forget everything else. 

He turns over on his stomach, and Phil’s hands run across his back, down his ass, lower, lower. He cringes at the thought of someone else seeing him like this, naked,and unravelled and  _ gay _ . But then he hears Phil’s voice telling him how good he looks, and he feels his hands as they massage his balls, and he closes his eyes. The ocean is in his ears. And Phil’s tongue is flicking against his asshole, and he’s moaning loudly, and he can’t be bothered to care. 

Despite how horny their unplanned abstinence has made him, Phil stretches out the process as long as possible. He barely touches him, but that just makes each one of his caresses all the more potent. When Dan finally does cum, Phil’s tongue buried inside of him, his hand loose around the base of his cock, he feels like he actually might cry from the pleasure, from the release. He flattens himself on the tiles, feeling sweaty and dirty and divine. 

Phil lies down by his side and props his head up on a pillow. Dan makes a little sound. He pulls Phil closer. And he can hear the waves, and he can feel the sun. Phil moves his legs in between his. They are both sweaty now, not that they care. He breathes in the salty air, the smell of cum and Phil. Slowly (exhausted), he begins to fall asleep again. 

-

“Fuck! Dan – oww!”

The words get him up quick; he sits. The sun is setting, an orangish light over the world, and next to him Phil is wincing. “You okay?” says Dan, putting a hand over his eyes so that he can see him properly. 

“No.” There’s panic in his voice. “Fuck.”

Dan blinks. “What’s wrong?”

He points a hand at his crotch, and Dan winces for him. Everything that would have been covered by his shorts is bright red with sunburn. “Shit.”

Phil literally looks like he’s going to cry. 

“Come on, we have to get out of the sun,” says Dan, getting up and pulling along back to the house. 

How could they have been so stupid? He had fucking gotten heat stroke before, and that was by far the worst (physical) thing that had ever happened to him. When they get back into the house, he pours them each a glass of water. “Drink, but not too much” he says, forcing it into Phil’s hand. They both drink some, and then he tops up the drinks again. Phil just stands there in the kitchen looking down at his bright red cock. 

“Does it hurt?”

“What do you think?” he snaps.

“I have aloe gel,” he says. It’s the stuff they use when Phil gets sunburned. It happens often enough on his nose or or the back of his neck, never anywhere like this. 

Phil glares at him. “Are you burned?”

Dan looks down at his body. He for sure has extra freckles, but nothing looks red yet. He had fallen asleep on his stomach though; he turns around so Phil can examine his back and ass. “Burned?” he says over his shoulder. 

“I think you’re fine.”

“Okay good, I’ll go get you the aloe, Phil,” he says, kissing his cheek. “Go sit down on the couch and drink water.”

He runs upstairs to their luggage. Phil, of course, had left his suitcase in the middle of the bedroom. He rummages through it for the aloe gel and then comes back down. Phil is sulking on the sofa, his legs spread wide. The skin on the inside of his thighs has already started to peel from friction. Dan grimaces. This was definitely going to put a damper on the rest of their vacation. 

“Did you drink a little more?” he says. 

Phil points to a half empty glass on the table, and Dan goes to his knees in front of him. He uncaps the aloe gel and puts it on his fingers. It looks and feels quite a lot like lube, clear and gelatinous. Gingerly, he begins to apply it at Phil’s hip. He winces at the touch. “Sorry,” says Dan. 

“It’s okay.”

He spreads it over his thighs, coating the skin with it, feeling bits of skin peel off despite the lightness of his touch. “This is going to hurt,” he says, looking up at Phil.

“I have never wanted you to touch my cock less,” he says. 

“Sorry, mate,” Dan answers, pouring a generous amount onto his hand and gently massaging it onto the head and shaft. His boyfriend groans and bites his lips. “It’s okay, Phil, as long as we don’t have heat stroke, we’ll be alright.” Phil gives an unconvinced grunt. 

He puts it all over him, using more of the bottle than he ever has before. When he is finished, Phil has a thin layer of watery gel on him, and he looks miserable. Dan plops down on the couch next to him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he says, resting his head against Dan’s shoulder. 

Dan kisses his forehead and puts his arms around his neck. “It was nice though, right?”

“A lot more than nice,” Phil answers. “I missed you like that.”

“I missed you too.”

They’re quiet for a moment and then Phil laughs. “I can’t believe my dick is sunburned.”

Dan laughs with him. “Well, I mean you are translucent, Phil.”

“Oh, come on, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Mr. Exhibitionist over here,” he says, poking his nose. 

Dan grins. “You love it.”

“I did actually.” He kisses him. “Forgot what fucking wonders your mouth could do.”

“Dido,” says Dan grinning in a way that he knew accentuated his dimples. “It was pretty perfect.”

“Excuse me,” says Phil, pointing at his dick. 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Besides that! Don’t you think it was perfect?”

Phil kisses his shoulder. “Okay, it was pretty perfect. And I guess I’ll take a little sunburn for you anyday.”


End file.
